JO WAS MY BEST FRIEND

Everybody loved us

(Jo and I)

At all the bars we

Use to tour.

Jo was my best friend

And we never did argue too much.

The funny thing was

He didn't drink at all

Well nothing but water.

Sometimes I'd get so drunk

And forget that he might be thirsty

So he'd make his own way...

To the toilet.

Plenty of water in there.

I had a good run goin

For a couple a years where

I'd wake up

In all sorts of weird

Places or situations.

Like behind a bush.

But in between that bush

And some building

With old Jo

Tied to my ankle.

Sitting on my chest and

Growling at all the people who

Were walking by on the sidewalk

On the other side of that bush.

Sometimes I would wake up

In San Diego.

Super hot and

Very thirsty.

Or in San Francisco

Smack in the middle of

Panhandle Park

Off of Haight st.

With the sprinklers going

Full blast

My back all muddy

And Jo once again tied

Trying to pull us out by

My ankle.

If he coulda talked

We mighta argued then...

Or in Portland

Shivering in some hobo camp.

Sleeping in the rain

Alongside the railroad tracks.

Boy if that dog could talk,

I wonder what he woulda said?

I doubt I'll ever find out.

Old Jo is dead.

And other than a slap or 2

In the face

From some chick

Over the night before

I never could remember

How we even got there...